


Out of This City

by harpydora



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2016-11-19
Packaged: 2018-08-31 19:59:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8591590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harpydora/pseuds/harpydora
Summary: "So, I heard through the grapevine that it's about to be someone's birthday here soon," she says in a conspiratorial tone.
Angus nearly jumps out of his chair in response, clutching his book to his chest and gaping at her in horror. No one was supposed to know.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is basically me speculating as to what would cause such a sweet boy as Ango to FORSAKE EVERYTHING AND RUN AWAY TO THE FUCKING MOON.
> 
> Once again, thank you to HorribleThing for being an all around incredible person, and thanks to HorribleThing and kaos_sparrow for the quick beta. Y'all rock. <3

It takes exactly three weeks for Angus McDonald to screw up the courage to do it, though it isn't even until day two of casual planning that he realizes he _wants_ to.

Twenty-one days of observation is as good as an eternity to a detective with his skills, and since the novelty of having a kid on base has worn off, no one even pays him any attention while he works. He maps out schedules, routines, ebbs and flows of foot traffic, preferences and obligations. The information adds up quickly until he feels confident he can guess where any of the moon's inhabitants may be at most any time. By then it's trivial to get around the base unseen.

The only soul who knows is in no position to reveal his secret once the deed is done, but he still finds himself shuffling past its enclosure as quietly as he can. The Voidfish has grown so vocal recently that Angus can't risk dallying in the open in case it decides it wants to sing at him. The moment the Voidfish starts singing, Johann will be right down and Angus's whole plan will have been for nothing.

In one hand, he clutches a rolled-up parchment so tightly that he's sure it will never unroll flat again. It had taken him ages to properly formulate what to write on it, and the one in his hand is actually the sixth iteration. Every mark on it had to be made with excruciating attention to detail, had to be absolutely perfect so that he doesn't somehow make things worse. He knows the entire contents of it by heart, but he hopes that by the end of the night he won't have to hold onto them anymore.

The tank looms over him, dark, enormous, and heavy with forbidden knowledge. In it, drifting lazily to and fro, hangs the Voidfish. Its body flickers with pinpricks of light like galaxies, but it gives no indication of being either sleeping or awake. Angus holds his breath as he approaches the tube through which the Voidfish is fed.

The process is, in the end, anticlimactic. As silently as a whisper, Angus rests the crumpled parchment in the open feeding tube, then pulls the lever he's seen Johann use to operate it. There's a distinct _whoosh_ as the parchment gets sucked into the tank, then the Voidfish twirls in slow motion to snag the parchment in one of its fronds. The moment feels frozen in time as Angus stares on in awe.

The parchment dissolves. A few points of light wink into life inside the Voidfish's galaxy.

Angus slowly starts to breathe again.

*

At the age of four, Angus knew he wanted to be a detective—though he wouldn't learn the term until later when he discovered _Caleb Cleveland, Kid Cop_. He remembers the moment so clearly: sitting at his father's knee, watching the flames in the fireplace throw shadows across the room. "Papa," he had asked, "do I have a mama?"

His father had shifted and his lips had tugged down at the corners in a scowl (a common expression in the McDonald men, he would learn). When he spoke, his words were cold. Scornful. "A woman birthed you, but she was not up to the task of being a part of the family. So she left."

It's almost as if the fire burned the image on Angus's brain. Even now, he can imagine every line on his father's dour face, each one a function of his deeper distaste. At the time, though, Angus hadn't any clue what he'd meant; he only knew that he wanted to know more about this mysterious woman who should be his mother.

*

No one mentions anything once the deed is done, not even Johann. Somehow, that feels like a surprise, even though Angus had taken every care to go unseen. Something so important should have maybe left a visible mark, he thinks. Some evidence of what he'd done. (The irony of _that_ thought isn't lost on him.)

The following day, he finds himself in the Bureau of Balance's cafeteria at lunchtime, a book tucked under one arm and his fancy cap and tie maybe a little askew. He'd noticed it in the mirror before he'd left his quarters that morning, but hadn't bothered to fix it. Like the fact of what he had done the night before, these go unnoticed, too. He gets his meal and picks a seat a little removed from the rest of the gathered lunch crowd.

After finishing his food, he shoves his tray to one side and lays the book open in front of him. One elbow bumps the wall at his side, flaking off a little of the paint onto the sleeve of his jacket. Without realizing it, he'd chosen the seat next to the wall Taako's staff had burned the letters L, U, and P. Self-consciously, he shifts his chair away; the cafeteria workers have a hard enough time trying to keep the letters covered without his own clumsiness making things more difficult.

Maybe he shouldn't be surprised that he's chosen this corner of the cafeteria for his research when it's this very mystery he's trying to crack. His best lead is the letters themselves, after all. They don't appear to be any sort of word in any language he knows… so his current thought is that it's a proper noun of some sort. But is it a place? A thing? A person? A mythical being—

"Hey, Angus!" Another tray slams down on the other side of the table, slopping a little bit of soup out of the bowl and onto the table. He yelps and scrambles to scoop up his book before it falls victim to food stains.

Across from him, Carey Fangbattle tips her head back and cackles. "You need to lighten up, kid," she says as she slings herself down into one chair and hooks her heel on another one to use as footrest.

"Oh, er. Hello, Ms. Fangbattle," he squeaks, taking a deep breath to steady himself. He hadn't even heard her approach. "H-how are you today?"

Carey grins and leans across the table until her snout is mere inches from his nose. He fancies can see every glittering blue scale, see the way her pupils contract as she focuses on him. There's a moment—a completely wild and irrational moment—where he thinks _she knows_ and _she'll punish me_ and _I'll get kicked off the moon_ and a million other smaller fears that writhe too quickly for him to give words to.

But the moment passes. "So, I heard through the grapevine that it's about to be _some_ one's birthday here soon," she says in a conspiratorial tone.

Angus nearly jumps out of his chair in response, clutching his book to his chest and gaping at her in horror. No one was supposed to _know_. "I don't know what you're talking about, m-ma'am," he stammers. But it's clear from the way her brow ridges dip that she's not fooled. Quietly, he says, "You can't tell _anyone_. Please."

She reaches across the table and bumps his shoulder with her fist. It's not worth calling a punch; barely even a tap, really. "Aww, Angus, don't worry, your secret's safe with me!" He has a moment to draw in a breath before she leans in again and continues, " _If_ you do me a solid and come to Neverwinter to help me out with something."

*

As he finished debriefing the local constabulary, his uncle (his father's oldest sibling, Martin) brought a carriage to retrieve him, accompanied by his two children. Martin was a lot like Angus's father but made out of wire instead of stone. His children weren't much like Angus at all.

"Ew," hissed his cousin Margaret (never, _ever_ Maggie or Meg). "What happened to _you_ Aggie? Did you get thrown off a horse?" Her brother, Niall, guffawed.

"Um, well…" He didn't finish the statement; Margaret and Niall were already tittering amongst themselves, and Martin had leveled a glare at him. Angus ducked his head. "Sorry for being so late, sir."

Martin scowled. "Whatever was so important that you had to keep us waiting? And what would cause you to be seen in public like _that_?" He gestured at the dirt and grass stains on Angus's suit and the smudge of dirt on one cheek. "Don't you know that you, as a McDonald, must maintain a certain respectability when you conduct your business?" Margaret and Niall sniggered behind their hands. Angus winced.

"Yes, sir," said Angus. He felt heat creeping into his cheeks. "I was… I was helping to solve a murder mystery and—"

His uncle held up a hand. "Why Alan lets you indulge in these silly flights of fancy I will never know, but it seems to me that you've let this 'detective work' go to your head. I know your father didn't send you on the express train to Neverwinter just to play games. Where is our father's _gift_?"

The bottom fell out of the world. Angus's mouth tried to form words, but no sounds came out of the constricted thing his throat had become. Martin's eyes narrowed.

"You had one duty, Angus McDonald," his uncle said, voice deceptively even. "One simple task that your father had charged you with and you now stand in front of me covered in dirt and talking nonsense about murderers, and you don't even have the gift you were transporting?"

There was nothing that Angus could say in the face of that truth, so he bowed his head. The single piece of flatware that he'd tucked into his jacket pocket would only add insult to the injury he'd done to the family.

His uncle shook his head. "I see. I think it might be best if you made your own way back to the manse, Angus. When you've accomplished something that demonstrates your value to the McDonald family."

Angus said nothing as his uncle and two cousins climbed back into the carriage and drove back toward their home.

Later, he would find out that his grandfather had passed while the train sped toward Neverwinter, and nothing Angus could have done would have let him succeed at his quest.

The first thought that had crossed his mind then had been _thank goodness_ . It was shameful; he dared not give voice to it. But it was there. That wasn't to say that the sadness _wasn't_. It was just… the sadness came half-a-heartbeat later.

*

The last time Angus found himself in Neverwinter was not, in fact, the time he narrowly escaped a fiery, train-y death, but that _was_ the last time he'd visited it with the intent to see family. In the ensuing time between his grandfather's death and joining the Bureau he actually came to Neverwinter three more times during his investigations, but he took great care to steer clear of all the McDonald family's holdings.

This is the first time he's come at the city from the fake moon, though, and as terrified as he is when he and Carey are hurtling toward the earth at dizzying speeds, he can still appreciate how beautiful it looks from above. He feels certain that some poet somewhere must have compared it to a jewel of some sort. Maybe he'll look it up when he returns to the base?

Carey glances over at him, takes note of the way his fingers are clutching the edge of his seat, and reaches over to pat the top of his head. "Hey, we're almost there!" she says. "You wanna do the honors?" She gestures at the lever between them.

Between the terror of the flight and the awe of the view, Angus can only manage to shake his head once. Carey shrugs like it's no big deal that they're tumbling at insane speeds toward the planet below and grabs the lever with both of her hands. "All right, here we go!"

The rest of the descent passes in darkness as Angus screws his eyes shut, but he can still hear Carey's delighted whooping until the sphere lands with a thump on the solid ground. "Okay, time to get to work."

Angus undoes the safety harness and slides out of his seat. "Pardon me, Ms. Fangbattle, ma'am, but you haven't told me what we're doing here."

Carey's grin is almost blinding with how wide it is. "I'm on a mission, Angus. A mission to find _birthday presents_." At his very clear shock, she laughs. "C'mon, kid, what'd you think I wanted you for? You're the best at knowing things, and I wasn't about to ask for your help without offering something for you." She shoves open the sphere's door and hops out onto the soft grass they'd landed in. Angus follows her.

Who else could Carey be shopping for…? Angus wracks his brain until understanding dawns. "Ms. Killian!" he shouts. "Her birthday is soon, too!" He pauses, brain still working at that thread. "But… wouldn't you know better about what she might want? You two are awful close."

"You got me," said Carey, raising her hands in defeat. "That was a lie. This is mostly just about birthday shopping for you. I gotta get some supplies for what I'm doing for Killian, but…" She sighs. Her arms drop to her sides. "I saw how you didn't have a lot for Candlenights, and I thought it might be nice to make sure your birthday didn't go down that way, too."

"But I haven't told anyone when my birthday was," he protests. "How did you _know_?"

Carey rolls her eyes. "You filled out a questionnaire for the Director, right? Where d'you think she keeps 'em?"

"In a locked filing cabinet, or maybe a safe?" He's never thought about it, but that seems like a logical enough location. Carey nods vigorously.

"Exactly!" she crows.

"I… what?"

*

Their first stop is actually outside the city limits: Carey leads them to tiny, ramshackle hut a little way off the main road. They're greeted by three people with clubs who are all at least twice as large as Carey and five times as shifty-looking, but she sketches a few hand signs in their direction and suddenly it's like they're all pals. They give her a package, she leaves them some coins, and then she grabs Angus's hand to lead him back the way they came.

Carey keeps her loose grip on Angus's hand even after they've crossed into Neverwinter proper. If she's seen his questionnaire, she must know that he spent a good deal of time here, but she acts like they're just _tourists_ . ("Would ya look at that?" "It's just the town hall, Ms. Fangbattle…" or "Hey, Angus, check out this statue! This guy has _eight chins_ ," or "Do you think I could climb to the top of that tower?" which is particularly distressing because Angus is fairly sure she _can_ but doesn't want to encourage her.)

After spending most of the morning wandering aimlessly through the city's heart, Carey finally says, "So, what's a kid like you want for his birthday? Are you a candy kind of guy? Or… no, wait, I've got it! You love gifts of stinky goat cheese!" She laughs at her own goof, and it's so infectious that Angus can't help but chuckle at it himself.

"Oh, no, I like candy just fine," he says.

" _Buuut_ …?" Carey draws the word out so it's long and sweet like freshly pulled taffy. "C'mon, kid, you can't leave me hanging. You're the detective here, not me." She favors him with a serious look that has an almost physical weight to it.

Angus takes a deep breath. She seems so earnest in her curiosity. What could it hurt? The worst she could do is laugh at him, right? He has a bracer of his own; if her company turns sour, he can go home at any time. "Well…" he finally says, voice low and eyes cast downward, "I heard there's a new book out in a series I really like…"

"It figures a kid like you would want books more than candy," she says without a trace of irritation or spite in her voice. "Well, that settles it. I'm going to get that book for you and then we'll both get something sweet because it's almost your birthday anyway!"

It's settled just like that. No reproach, no scorn for his interests. Just a statement that they will get candy _and_ the next book in the _Caleb Cleveland_ series.

His expression must betray his shock, because Carey cocks her head quizzically as she looks down at him. "Is that… is that okay? Or d'you want to do something different?"

"Oh! Oh, no, that—that sounds great, Ms. Fangbattle!" he stammers quickly. "I didn't mean to imply that it wasn't. I'm sorry."

"It's okay. You just looked a little weirded out is all." She ruffles his hair, which knocks his cap askew, but the gesture is not unfond. "C'mon, kid, you can call me 'Carey' now after all that sweet tourism we've been doing. So, where's a good place to get books around here?"

He leads her to the bookstore he would frequent when he and his father were in town to visit his grandfather, and Carey doesn't bat an eye when he plucks the latest book in the series off the _Caleb Cleveland_ display. She has the shopkeeper wrap it with colorful paper and a silky ribbon, then tucks the package under her arm with the other item she'd acquired when they first arrived.

Once that transaction is done, Carey grabs his hand again and drags him through the streets as if following some trail that Angus can't see. Or rather, can't see _directly_. He catches the way she keeps her snout held high, notes how her nostrils flare every few breaths. She's following some aroma that he can't discern with his own nose.

It isn't long before he can smell it, too, and he realizes he knows _exactly_ where they're headed. His gaze finds the spires of the ridiculous candy shop's facade well before he can see the main building. Next to him, Carey grins and licks her chops. "You ready to get the world's worst tummy ache with me?" she asks, eyes gleaming with delight. Like her laughter, it's infectious.

"Yes, ma'am!" he says.

The candy shop is packed to the gills, but that doesn't pose any problem to professionals such as Carey and himself. Through unspoken agreement, they decide to divide and conquer, and they both carry large sacks of goodies by the time they meet at the counter to pay.

As Angus watches the shopkeeper weigh their purchases and extract a handful of coins from Carey, he can't help but let his thoughts wander. What sort of candy is Carey willing to eat until she's sick? He supposes he'll find out soon enough, but the thought leads to another: what are his friends back on the moon likely to eat? Should he have gone ahead and made a few selections based on what he thought they might like, in case anyone begrudged him the birthday trip? He still had no plans to tell anyone about his birthday looming, so that might make the large sack of candy indefensible—

He jumps when Carey's hand lands on his shoulder and drags him out of his thoughts. "C'mon, Angus, let's get going!" she says brightly. If his derailed train of thought was visible on his face, she did not pay it any attention.

Angus takes his bag of candy in one hand and Carey's hand in the other. "Okay."

Carey tugs him through the crowd and back the way they came until they reach a secluded little square in one of Neverwinter's sleepier districts. Even at lunchtime, it's quiet and mostly deserted. Only a handful of birds huddle around a burbling fountain in the center of it, and they're quickly dismissed by a couple of loud, rude gestures from Carey. She dusts off part of the stonework and perches there. Angus hops up next to her.

She dips her hand into her bag of candy and pulls out a fistful of shiny red cinnamon jawbreakers, which she proceeds to stuff into her mouth and begin crunching in what is possibly the most distressing display of jaw strength Angus has had the misfortune to witness. When she turns to him and says, "Whatcha waiting for? Dig in!" her tongue and teeth are stained comically red. Not one to argue in the face of _that_ kind of invitation, Angus pulls out a hard candy to suck on.

They sit in companionable silence for a while—or rather, companionable slurping and crunching while Carey devours her haul of exclusively spicy, red-colored candy. The birds don't dare return, not with Carey's jaws working in such a fashion, but a few of Neverwinter's residents pass them by without paying them any mind. Angus lets himself drift. The day is warm, the weather is fine, and, if he's being honest with himself, he's enjoyed doing silly things with Carey all day. It's been nice being in Neverwinter without any social or familial or professional obligations. It's been nicer still being here with someone whose idea of fun doesn't involve "Kick Me" signs or playing keep-away (but even then, he reminds himself, that's better than someone with no idea of fun at all).

"How _dreadful_." The pronouncement slices through the dreamy daze of Angus's thoughts like the sharpest of scalpels. A quick scan of the area confirms the swiftly chilling fear: on the opposite side of the square stands his uncle Martin, scowling in his direction. Next to him are Margaret and Niall. "They'll let _anyone_ through the city gates these days."

"It's awful," agrees Margaret. "Don't these tourists know that Neverwinter isn't a city for unwashed trash?"

Angus's chest tightens. Gods, how could he have been so thoughtless? Carey had picked a quiet spot only a few blocks from the McDonald estate. He should have expected this. Should have realized. Should have said something. Should have—

"Get bent!" Carey replies with a cheerful wave and a grin that fully displays every candy-stained tooth she has.

Martin's eyes narrow, but Angus realizes with a start that he isn't glaring at _Angus_ at all. His uncle sneers at them—at _Carey_ —before spitting an epithet under his breath and turning to stride back the way he and Margaret had come.

His uncle hadn't recognized him.

_His uncle hadn't even recognized him._

The laughter surprises Angus himself almost as much as it seems to surprise Carey. "Aww, kid, it wasn't _that_ funny," she says, but he keeps laughing anyway. There's no way he can explain what he'd done, no way to explain the shame he'd brought to his family, no way to explain how much better off everyone with the McDonald name will be now that they've forgotten him. No way to explain the _lightness_ that seized him, now that he knows it's _worked_. So he doesn't even try.

He laughs until there are tears in his eyes and he can barely breathe, at which point there are just tears and great wracking sobs. He didn't notice the transition when the laughter stopped, but Carey must have because she puts her arms around his shoulders and pulls him close to her chest. She tucks his head under her chin and he can vaguely hear the comforting noises she makes reverberating in her ribcage, but he's too far gone to try to make sense of them.

The tears eventually run out too (though more slowly than the laughter did), leaving Angus taking big gulping breaths as he steadies himself again. Carey's arms unfold reluctantly as he pulls away, and her concern and confusion are written plain as day on her face. He scrubs at his eyes. He must look a wreck.

"You okay, kid?" Carey asks. Her voice is softer than he's ever heard it.

Angus nods. "I'm… I'm okay." He takes a deep breath. The air is warm and he can smell the cinnamon of the candy Carey had been eating. His head throbs. "Today's been swell, Ms. Fa—Carey. But I think I want to go home now, please."

The confusion doesn't clear up, but the concern dissipates a little. "Sure, if that's what the birthday boy wants."

He nods again. "Yes, please. And thank you. For everything today, I mean."

Carey ruffles his hair. "No problem, kiddo. Any time."


End file.
